


I Hate Love Songs

by Toryb



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: 8 Songs for 8 Important relationships, Alternate Universe - College/University, Coping with Alcohol (briefly), F/M, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Jughead is a Love Song Scrooge, Unexpected Pregnancy, Vignette, meet cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-09-01
Packaged: 2019-07-05 05:17:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15856968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toryb/pseuds/Toryb
Summary: Eight times that eight songs made Jughead Jones fall a little bit more in love with Betty Cooper (and rethink his cold hard hatred for love songs).





	I Hate Love Songs

**Author's Note:**

> So I was struck by a bug and was absolutely unable to shake it away and thus this 9k oneshot was birthed on absolute accident. I want to thank lyss @bettscoopr for beta-ing this for me, as well as @bugggghead for making me the amazing graphic on tumblr! I also want to thank Kelsea Ballerini for writing the song "I Hate Love Songs" which inspired this fic. No you don't have to listen to it (it's country, i know most people hate that stuff) but it is what inspired the fic!
> 
> For anyone who's from the West Coast like me (god bless my east coast beta), a Wegmans is a really cool grocery store and A&P is garbage kind of like Albertsons/Safeway. (I had no idea you guys don't have like a Vons or a Smiths on the East Coast.)

__**I hate pink hearts with glitter and Valentine's dinner  
** And roses just die in a week  
We were drunk when we met so we don't know our anniversary, woops  
Oh and I'm far too vain to kiss in the rain  
The clouds, they aren't numbered to nine  
And you make me feel something but it sure as hell ain't butterflies 

 

**1: The Bar: Achy Breaky Heart - Billy Ray Cyrus**

 

Jughead sat at the bar glaring out into the dancing crowd, hoping that his best friend--supposedly, after tonight that was to be determined--could feel the pure vitrole he felt in this moment. A bar was not his happy place. A country music, line dancing bar on a friday night was an absolute nightmare. The alcohol was cheap, sure, but it was accompanied by sharp twangs and overused, unnecessary acoustic guitars for the sake of “aesthetic.” Normally, a good aesthetic was something he could appreciate. No one wore that much flannel and gray without intentionally committing to looking like a vagabond hipster. But number one, it was country music, and number two, he did not want to be here just so Archie could “pick up a country chick.” Why Archie couldn't do that with the company of Moose, or hell, even Reggie Mantle, was mind boggling to him.

 

Well, maybe he did know why. Worst case scenario, Archie could blame his sloppy drunk best friend for unfortunately having to “leave early” in case he got trapped in a slow dance with a partner he didn’t want. Luckily for all of them--Jughead hated having to pretend he was throwing up--his red-headed friend was nowhere in sight. Which probably meant he had some company in the men’s bathroom.

 

“Another?” 

 

The bartender, a girl probably his age with a blue bandana tied on her tighty-ponytailed head, smiled and pointed to his whiskey on the rocks.

 

“If you could just pour the entire bottle in there, that would be great.”

 

She laughed, shaking her head before mixing him up another one. 

 

“So what brings you here if you’re not one for dancing? You don’t strike me as someone who likes dancing.”

 

“What gave it away? My two left feet or the fact that I’ve stationed myself as far away from the dance floor as humanly possible while I keep an eye out for my idiot roommate?” Tonight they were not friends. Maybe not even tomorrow after this torturous night. “He likes to get into trouble.”

 

“Trust me, I get it. My best friend came to visit me because she said she ‘wanted to try a country boy.’ I’ve been looking back there to try and find her too.”

 

“Given my luck, I’m sure our friends have found each other and are tangled up somewhere very private, away from my vision and hopefully my eardrums.”

 

He took a drink, studying the bartender with a careful eye, trying to place where he recognized her from. It certainly wasn’t this establishment, as this was the first--and the only, no matter how hard Archie begged--time he had been here in his life. Maybe she had worked at one of his usual haunts. No, he knew all of them by name, and they didn’t ask as many questions. People of his type weren’t particularly chatty.

 

And then it hit him like a ton of bricks. Or, more accurately, it hit him like a giant World War II textbook.

 

“You were in Mr. Parkinson’s class last semester. The three hour on Wednesday that most people didn’t bother to show up to because he didn’t take attendance. But you were always there. So was I, just in the back.”

 

The bartender flushed, pushing a loose strand of hair away from her face. “Most people from school don’t recognize me but yeah, that’s me. I’m sorry, I don’t think I remember your name.”

 

“I’m surprised. If there’s one thing most people remember about me, it’s that.” He smiled, pointing at his now empty glass. She filled it wordlessly, though he was impressed she had the decency to seem surprised at how quickly he’d guzzled it down. “Jughead Jones. The third. And your name is… Bessy? Betsy? Be….Beatrice?”

 

“You were there and then you lost it. It’s Betty. Last name Cooper.”

 

“Betty! Right! You had some really interesting points on the after effects of American imperialism, especially on countries such as Korea and Japan. I liked hearing you talk. I would love to hear it again some time.” 

 

Whenever Jughead was inebriated, he was the chattiest person in the room. It was like some imaginary switch flicked off in his mind and the flood gates opened. He had once spent three hours cross faded and extolling the virtues of Truman Capote’s  _ In Cold Blood _ . That was also the night he’d suggested mandatory crazy hat Monday if he was president, but that particular detail is unimportant.

 

“Well, you’re hearing me now, so it must be your lucky day.” She laughed, shaking her head. Another man called for a drink and she was forced to leave his company. It was strange how immediately he missed it, but Jughead did his best to brush away that particular thought for now.

 

When she came back, a small part of him felt elated. Somehow he had convinced her into thinking that he was good company. Joke was on her though, he was the local trash man, prince of the dumpster and all surrounding suburbs. Especially after his fourth glass of whiskey.

 

“So, Betty, how long have you worked here?” Jughead made it a point to say her name again, as if gesturing wildly to the fact that he had, in fact, remembered her name in the short period of time he hadn’t been studying the smile lines etched into her pretty pale skin and the way her eyes sparkled under the flickering glow of the bar light.

 

“For about three months. I used to work somewhere else, but Moonshine pays better so here I am! It’s not so bad. I don’t even really hear the music playing anymore, I think I’ve become immune to it or something.”

 

“I don’t get how you can deal with it.”

 

“Deal with what?”

 

Jughead gestured around the room to the... everything that was making him particularly bitter. The DJ had, for some absolutely ungodly reason, put on a Billy Ray Cyrus classic and now people were partnering up and spinning each other around. The reasonable part of him said not to roll his eyes. The reasonable part of him lost.

 

“The sounds.”

 

Betty frowned and he decided he would have to rectify the situation as immediately as he could. 

 

“Well, I don’t really like the type of music either, but it’s not so bad,” she said before he got the chance.

 

“No no, the country is whatever. I mean it makes my head hurt, but I also listen to Archie trying to write songs at two o’clock in the morning and act as his beta reader for half finished poetry because I’m the one getting the creative writing degree.” For a moment he frowned, having lost his train of thought. Thankfully, a loud twang coming from the speakers around the bar reminded him. “It’s love songs. That’s my problem.”

 

“I’m sorry, what?”

 

“They oversaturate the media! Every time you turn on a station you either hear a love song or a song about partying. There’s no good in between. And forgive me if I don’t want to hear about people breaking up, hooking up, or fucking up constantly.”

 

“Oh, so you’re the Scrooge of music then?” Betty smiled, leaning over the bar. They were closer than ever now. That was something he liked.

 

“Call me what you will, you know I have a point. Besides they’re so… so trite. Everything is about the same three things: Cheating. Fucking. Marriage. Which is not only horrifically unrealistic, at least I think, I’ve never properly committed to a relationship, but from all the ones I’ve seen walk in and out of my door thanks to my serial dater roommate, I feel like I’m well knowledged. What was I saying? Oh right, it’s not realistic. Love is supposed to be way more complex than that, because all human emotions are.”

 

She nodded along and Jughead thought briefly that she might not just be humoring him like most people did, but actually listening. “Mhm. So what you’re saying is you really need to get laid.”

 

He laughed louder than he meant to. “Well yeah, probably, but that’s also not what this stems from. I’ve just got it hard wired into my DNA to think all love songs are garbage, I guess.”

 

“Even something as iconic as L-O-V-E by Nat King Cole?”

 

“Especially something like that. That one’s trite  _ and _ overplayed in every Hollywood movie to date.”

 

“We’ve all got our quirks. Maybe one day you’ll find someone who makes you think a little differently.”

 

Before he could answer, there was a loud crashing noise, and everyone in the bar turned to look at the  grown man clutching his hand on the dance floor. A large shard of what was likely the remnants of a beer bottle was protruding from his hand. There was a brief moment in which Jughead allowed himself to hope in vain it wasn’t Archie. It was gone before it really even started as a black-haired woman he didn’t recognize was helping him stumble toward him.

 

“Um… he said he was with you?”

 

Jughead hopped off the barstool and turned to face his roommate. Yeah, they definitely weren’t friends tonight. 

 

“Of course he did. Archie, what the actual hell, man? I can’t leave you alone for five seconds. I’m going to want a very long explanation when we’re in the car.”

 

Drunk off his ass, the red head groaned, resting his head on Jughead’s shoulder, who nearly collapsed under the weight. “I thought I could catch it and do a cool trick for Ronnie.”

 

“Well, you must be Ronnie. Sorry we’re meeting under such terrible circumstances. It is my duty as Archie’s blood brother to ask you delete the phone number he gave you and never try to make contact with him again, because he might spontaneously combust and I can’t afford to fix our carpets right now.” He turned to Betty. “It was nice chatting with you. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

 

As the song finished up and the rest of the crowd went back to dancing, Jughead felt a gnawing in the pit of his stomach. He should have done something. Maybe left his phone number on a napkin, despite the fact that it would have made him feel like a presumptuous douche. It wasn’t every day he met someone willing to tolerate his nonsensical, drunken ramblings.

 

In the back of the Lyft, he kicked his already injured friend’s leg. All he got out of it was a whimper in response, but at least it made him feel a little better. The rest of the night was spent in the ER, trying to explain to multiple confused nurses that no one new how the hell Archie had gotten a bottle cap stuck in his finger, but if they could please get it out before his exam on Monday, that would be great. As he sat in the waiting room, all he could think about was the pretty bartender named Betty, wishing he had at least asked her major like a normal college kid would have so he could play a game of “Stalk the Roster” and try to enroll in a class with her next semester. He fell asleep in the uncomfortable hospital chair almost ashamed.

 

**2: The Grocery Store: Love Song - Sara Bareilles**

 

As it turned out, Ronnie--better known as Veronica--had not only kept Archie’s number, but dared to contact him the following week, wishing him a speedy recovery and asking if he was free for brunch sometime soon. When it came to pretty girls, Archie was always free for brunch. 

 

Much to Jughead’s surprise and delight, he discovered Veronica was none other than Betty’s aforementioned best friend. By proxy, he and Betty had stumbled into a friendship of their own once the raven-haired beauty started going on frequent dates with Archie. He would say out loud that their friendship was one of convenience, that it was just to fight off the inevitability of one of them becoming the third wheel. Internally, he was grateful for any moment of time allotted to spending with Betty Cooper.

 

Even if it was at a grocery store, because she was appalled that two college seniors didn’t t even have one slice of bread left in their house after fall semester midterms.

 

“We just went grocery shopping!”

 

“I stress eat, Betts! You know this about me.”

 

With that, she had grabbed him by the collar and forced him into an A&P--which, frankly, Jughead had thought did not exist anymore, put out of business by places like Trader Joe’s and Wegmans. He loved food. He loved eating food, he loved making food, but actually shopping for food was a chore that he often couldn’t be bothered with, not when there were a myriad of places that would deliver pre-cooked meals to him with a quick request from Uber Eats. Besides that, normally when he kept food in the house, Archie would try to make something out of it and end up setting a fire with little more than a shrug as an explanation.

 

So far, the most troubling part of their grocery store excretion was all the healthy foods Betty was insisting on piling in his cart. He could not, off hand, remember the last time he had willingly bought broccoli, and yet there it was, sitting between its pale twin cauliflower and a few cans of soup. Apparently, the two of them were going to cook together tonight. Most things that were news to him were not to Betty, as she had taken to orchestrating events specifically to terrorize him. That’s how he saw it, anyway. She said it was “helping.” Grocery store helping felt a lot like the time she’d offered to “help” him with his car and told him that he was lucky she did because his radiator was leaking. Please. Cars were supposed to hiss like snakes.

 

(Honestly, Jughead Jones was not completely sure how he had successfully lived his life up until now without the help of Betty Cooper. She was a miracle worker and a saint rolled into one pretty pink cardigan.)

 

“Are you satisfied with what you’ve done to me? I know the difference between kale and chard. You’re turned me into a monster.”

 

She laughed as they wheeled up and down the frozen food aisles. Occasionally, he would insist on grabbing  a pizza or a package of precut burgers despite her protests. 

 

“Oh, you’ll be fine without it. And you’ll feel great too!”

 

Jughead scoffed and turned back to his important decision of meat lovers or hawaiian. Things were always easy with Betty. They laughed together, and she was willing to listen to him, a valuable trait when most of the people in his life simply nodded in hopes he would shut up soon. But she actually liked what he had to say, and they talked about anything and everything for long hours on his balcony.

 

Whatever they had fallen into was teetering on the verge of something bigger. When Betty flirted with him--at least Archie was pretty positive it was flirting, enough so that Jughead was starting to believe it--he didn’t feel the need to recoil and run as fast and as far as he could. He sat there, took it, and even dared to return a few winks and hand brushes if he deemed it fitting.

 

Their bi-weekly grocery store sessions were something he had started to look forward to, even if they were slightly inconvenient for his stomach, which craved junk food, and his wallet, which craved a reprieve. They stopped at the ice cream section so she could snag her own vice: chocolate bunny tracks. It was something he’d dared to try only once in fear of addiction. With great detail, she had described to him the luxuries of the one ice cream she allowed herself to eat on a semi-regular basis, so of course he gave it a shot. It had, in fact, tasted like heaven. So much so that he’d eaten the whole pint and was now being forced to repay his drunken debt.

 

As Betty was holding up cartons and examining flavors, Jughead overheard what he always hated about grocery stories: the music. These damn songs haunted him everywhere.

 

“You know why this pisses me off?”

 

“Why, Jug?” she asked, not bothering to look up from her careful deliberation. This was commonplace for them.

 

“Because she says she’s not singing another love song and then she sings a song about love. It’s the same thing, just trying to be clever about it. It’s a love song disguised as an anti-love song, and that’s plain wrong,” he said, eyeing the dairy products. “Like skim milk, which is water that is lying about being milk.”

 

“Yes, and you hate when people are clever about the things you hate because you like to be right.”

 

He glared at her and earned himself a little grin, something he tried very hard to ignore or else he might end up with those stupid butterflies in his stomach. “Haha. Ever think you should be a comedian?”

 

“Maybe one day if I’ve got the time. I’ll have to take you with me, you’re my entire act. Now what were you saying? Something about hating this poor woman’s music just because she uses the word love? What is your problem with love songs anyway? You’re always so vague in your explanations.”

 

Jughead grimaced and turned away. It wasn’t exactly polite, but at least it gave him a moment to decompress and think over his response. Love songs were more than just a few silly words to crusade against simply so he could be part of the counterculture. But for now, that wasn’t Betty’s business. It wasn’t anyone’s business but his.

 

“I told you, garbage music is always about at least one of three things. This is about a breakup. So there you go. Now I need to buy more whiskey, because this terrible music has made me want to drink.”

 

It was sweet of her to look at him with concern whenever took one (or two, or three) too many shots, but things were fine. He was not like his father. It was just something he did to pass the time and cope with the pain in his chest. Most people in college did the same thing. So it was fine, just like everything else was fine, too.

 

“Ready to check out?” he asked instead of acknowledging the way her smile faltered. “We should stop and get coffee on the way back to make sure Veronica and Archie are properly clothed.”

 

“Good call. I’ll order a pumpkin spice latte and you can order a black coffee and we’ll trade so you can protect your ego.”

 

“And that, Betty Cooper, is why you’re paid the big bucks.”

 

“Your gratitude is payment enough. That, and your first born child.”

 

Jughead laughed, setting his items onto the conveyor belt. “Do you accept checks to be cashed at a later date?”

 

“For a handsome boy like you? I’ll allow it.”

 

On the way back home, Jughead dared to reach out and take Betty’s hand. To his surprise, she didn’t pull away.

 

**3: The Italian Restaurant: De' miei bollenti spiriti - La Traviata**

 

Somehow, someway, Jughead had managed to convince Betty to go on a date with him. After their grocery shopping and hand holding excursion, he felt confident enough to text her about the nice Italian restaurant just down the street from their campus. The next half hour was spent in vague state of perpetual nausea until she finally answered him asking what time he thought would be best for their date. The little fork and smiley face emojis helped calm his nerves.

 

It took him three hours to pick out an outfit for the date. He felt like some teenager in an 1980s romantic comedy each time Archie would make him spin and then scoff at his choices. He didn’t date very often. In fact, in the last half decade of his life, he had kissed three girls, slept with two, and never called a single one his “girlfriend.” Whatever fleeting romance they shared was over long before that daunting label could be hurdled over. He was still friends with Trula and Sabrina, but there was nothing more between them. There simply never would be.

 

When he had finally received the best friend seal of approval on his outfit, Jughead hoped in his car--five minutes late!--and made his way to Betty’s apartment. To say she took his breath away when she stepped outside would be an understatement. In a pretty pink dress, her hair perfectly curled to frame her soft features, she looked like a Hitchcock blonde fantasy walking right towards him. For a minute they just stared at one another.

 

“You look good.” It was the best his distracted brain could offer, and, judging by her smile, it was good enough for her.

 

“Thank you. Should we go, Juggie?”

 

“Yeah. Yeah, we should go.”

 

The restaurant was buzzing when the arrived, practically packed on a busy Saturday night. He felt her hand tentatively slip into his and gave her a squeeze of encouragement. A few days ago he had made reservations, a brief moment of brilliance, as the wait otherwise would have been nearing on an hour,  and he could never wait that long for food. They were escorted to a booth tucked away in the back of the restaurant, where nothing but the flickering glow of candlelight and fairylights illuminated their table, making it hard to read the menu but easy to get lost in each other’s eyes.

 

“How was school? I haven’t seen you since we went grocery shopping.”

 

Betty took a minute to think before shrugging. “It’s alright. I TA for one of my favorite professor’s Intro to Journalism classes, so I was mostly grading papers whenever I had the chance this week. Lots of articles about the president. Are you surprised?”

 

“Not even a little. It’s a hot button issue.”

 

“Very much so.” She hummed and pointed to something on the menu he couldn’t read too well. “Do you know if this is any good?”

 

“Well, everything is good here. It’s my favorite place in town. Well, almost anyway. Nothing beats a good burger and french fries.”

 

“A good old American classic. I respect it.”

 

Jughead laughed. “That’s my goal. To be the kind of person whose culinary choices you respect.”

 

The rest of the night went better than he could have ever have expected. They held hands over the table, babbling away about anything and everything that bothered to touch down on the landing pad of his tongue. She kept up with him well and their banter always left him smiling. A woman like Betty Cooper was hard to find. He decided he wouldn’t be letting her go anytime soon.

 

He refused his third glass of wine when the waiter offered. Right now things were fine, but he could tell his second round had left her a little worried. But that’s not what tonight was for, so he pushed his glass away and watched her relax even just a little. Things moved smoothly after that, especially when the giant sundae they ordered to split arrived.

 

At least, until, the man with the accordion started walking their way. It didn’t take a genius to know what that meant, and before Jughead could wave him away, even offer to pay him to go, he had started on his song. The old man pulled out a rose, tucking it into Betty’s hair as he serenaded her in sweet Italian Opera, her date leaning back in the booth and not so subtly rolling his eyes.

 

“That’s enough, thank you,” Jughead cut him off before the second verse began, pulling out a few crumbled bills from his wallet as a tip. As much as he hated the noise, he could respect the man’s talent at his craft. The opera, not the accordion--those things were garbage. 

 

Betty gently spun the rose between her fingers. There were no thorns to prick her and she gave an easy smile. “I think it was beautiful, don’t you, Jug?”

 

“It certainly was something. Do you want to get out of here?”

 

There was a shopping square not too far away from the restaurant. The biting winter air helped clear his head and brought Betty’s hand back firmly into his. Jughead had never before understood those silly things Archie said, about knowing when someone was made for you, how well your limbs simply fit together. But now, with her, it was all so crystal clear.

 

It scared the shit out of him.

 

Romantic attachment brought on a flurry of other problems: romantic commitments, romantic discussions, and the ever-lingering potential of romantic fallouts. There weren’t many people he respected enough to guide him in matters of the heart. Really, the only one was Archie, who, while experienced, was not very capable of making something last. (At least until Veronica had shown up and Jughead had to watch them better each other as people like a good and healthy couple. Show offs.)

 

They reached an old antique book shop and stumbled inside. It was a relief to be out of the cold for even a fleeting few moments. Still, they stayed closely pressed together, eying first editions of copies they couldn’t afford in their wildest dreams.

 

“Jug, what is it about love songs that you hate so much?”

 

“Opening up that can of worms again, Betts? I thought you were smarter than that,” he teased.

 

She rolled her eyes and wrapped her scarf a little tighter around her neck. “I’m serious. What’s the real reason. Not one of the fake ones you give to people as your way of hiding your emotions.”

 

“My parents.”

 

It was the simplest answer he could give without sounding like an asshole. There were many things his parents had given him: an inferiority complex, white knight syndrome, copious amounts of undefinable trauma, and an intense and ever present hatred of love songs. But those stories were not appropriate first date topics. Maybe they weren’t even appropriate date topics at all. He’d have to add that to his every growing--and troubling, normally Archie was the last person he asked for sound advice from--list of dating questions.

 

“Okay. Thank you for sharing with me, even just a little. It means a lot to me. I get it. My parents weren’t great either. They weren’t happy a lot, together I mean. They hated each other but they stayed together for pretense alone. It looked better that they were married, so they kept it that way, until my dad finally snapped and...well maybe we both have things we don’t want to talk about yet. That’s okay.”

 

“Yeah, it is. Thank you, though, for sharing too.”

 

Betty smiled up at him, and under the moonlight drifting in through the open shop window, Jughead kissed her for the first time. When they melted together, he knew he was done for. There would be no one else. There couldn’t be.

 

**4: The Bedroom: Part 1: Something - The Beatles**

 

They fell together perfectly after that. Or, at least, as perfectly as two college seniors could. Together, they were nearly unstoppable, a fact that Archie, subject to much of their teasing, did not particularly enjoy. It was him who got the last laugh though, as Jughead told him how Betty wanted to make things special for their first night together, so the hunger they staved off with little more than late night groping sessions and PG-13 grinding left him light headed and heavy handed in the shower.

 

The night of their graduation, they exchanged pleasantries with family members he did not want to meet and was glad he would not have to see again--at least until some other Cooper family holiday that he was dragged to as part of his duty as Betty’s “boyfriend.” That’s what he was now. Her boyfriend. It felt strange to think, even stranger to say, and yet very good to be called. After a nearly ruined first “I love you” in the middle of the school parking lot after a test he thought had killed him, he was genuinely surprised things were as good as they were.

 

Jughead was looking forward to tonight; the night they’d planned, the night they’d scheduled, the night they had been texting about excitedly for weeks. It was going to be good, that much he was determined about. They agreed to flip living arrangements with Veronica and Archie. Both of them would be staying at the B&V apartment tonight so #Bughead--as mutual friend Kevin Keller had taken to calling them--could christen their graduation and official relationship.

 

He was running late, because of course he was. There were no friends or family from before college he had been forced to interact with as part of graduation ceremony, but he’d gotten an unexpected and drunken phone call from his father that left him calling Toledo Police to make sure whatever disaster he was apart of was taken care of and he could live the rest of the night in peace. His phone was going in a locked drawer, on the opposite side of the room, on silent. Maybe just tonight. Maybe forever.

 

On his way home, he stopped at the liquor store, grabbing a bottle of his favorite whiskey. Parked in front of his apartment complex, he took a shot. And then another. Just until his nerves were calmed and he felt light enough to breathe again. Whenever his family called, it got harder to make it through the day without something to calm his anxieties. Satisfied, Jughead hid the bottle under his passenger seat to be revisited at a later date.

 

Once inside Betty’s apartment, he was met with the gentle hum of the radio. It was a song he didn’t recognize, but it immediately made him quirk his eyebrows up in confusion. It wasn’t like he had some  _ Footloose  _ level hatred of music--that was extreme even for him--but love songs made him grit his teeth and roll his eyes. Betty knew that. Two minutes after they met she had known that.

 

But when he walked into the bedroom and saw her spread across the bed, wearing nothing but a white and blue teddy nightgown and a pair of stockings, he suddenly forgot whatever song was playing. She looked ethereal, relaxed with a book in her hand. A few candles flickered on the night stand and he spotted rose petals on the duvet. It was romance to a silly extreme and a very loud part of him loved it.

 

“All this for me?”

 

She snapped the book shut with a surprised yelp. Her eyes narrowed in a glare, watching him lean against the door frame as a song he finally recognized started to play out of the Bluetooth speakers she’d hidden somewhere he couldn’t see. Clever girl.

 

“Maybe it’s all for me and you’re just here to participate.”

 

“I would be okay with that. I’d be lucky to participate in anything you have planned. Do I get a trophy that says I was a good team player?”

 

“To be determined. We’ll see how well you play.”

 

He leaned down and kissed her. Their lips met with electricity and passion, his entire body shaking with excitement at the wide range of possibilities the night presented. Her fingers found their way to the buttons of his dress shirt, popping them open with expertise until he was finally as naked as she was. When they kissed again, he felt hunger ignite in his bones.

 

Betty pulled away, eyebrows knitting together in concern. “Jug, you taste a little like whiskey.”

 

“Don’t worry about it, okay? Just relax tonight.”

 

They fell into bed together after that. It was a night of easy sighs and gentle whispers, reminders of love and adoration until they were utterly spent.

 

Jughead didn’t mind  _ The Beatles _ . They were the least offensive by far when it came to stereotypical love songs that grated on his nerves. At least he could say they had substance. Hell, after tonight he might even like them.

 

**5: The Apartment: Part 1: The Scientist - Coldplay**

 

They had been fighting for fifteen days straight. The better half of a month was wasted on hollow threats and slamming doors. They didn’t exchange words unless they were laced with poison, dripping with pain, and ready to aim for the heart. His drinking wasn’t helping. With every argument that spiraled, he found himself with another shot in his hand.

 

After graduation, it had only taken a few months before Betty and Jughead decided to move in together. It made sense. Their previous roommates had found a place together to spend the rest of their days, and that meant having to find new living arrangements. It had been a natural process, one that was full of laughter, excitement, and many trips to furniture shops just so they could test out the expensive mattresses they had no intention of buying. The early days had been blissful.

 

Everything until now had been wonderful. Two years of happiness, the occasional fight only a blip on their radar. But something had set Betty off and it was impossible to find a moment of peace inside their little apartment. Even the cat could sense something was off, choosing to sit between them on the couch like a child stuck between feuding parents.

 

He wasn’t sure how much longer they were going to last like this.

 

Archie had invited Jughead out for the night, a drunken get together at the place he usually DJ’d to commiserate their confusion with adulthood. It had been nice to sit at a bar and throw back drinks with his best friend, laughing about the little things, and making light of the big. But drinking with Archie always got him sloppy. There was a weird competitive streak between them that resulted in Veronica picking them both up plastered after someone--definitely not him--had broken a pool stick and tried to fight a biker gang--he swears it wasn’t him.

 

The house was quiet when he got home, seemingly empty except for a subtle glow from the kitchen. He stumbled in to find himself some water and advil before crashing on the couch like he did most nights. Betty certainly didn’t seem to want to share a bed with him anymore. He crashed into the fridge and cursed, kicking his leg to try and get the pain to fade so he could finish getting ready for a fitful night’s sleep.

 

Apparently, the noise had woken up his sleeping girlfriend, who peeked into the room, wrapped in an old flannel of his. When she spotted him, all she did was sigh. “What the hell, Jug?”

 

“I fell into the fridge. It’s fine.”

 

“No it’s not fine. You can’t just do shit like this anymore. We’re not in college. Casually getting hammered on a Wednesday night isn’t something you should do. Don’t you have work in the morning?”

 

He rolled his eyes and pulled out the advil. “No, remember, I took tomorrow off because we were supposed to drive up to visit your mom but she cancelled last minute, like she always does because she hates me.”

 

“Don’t act like that. I told you she doesn’t hate you. She just doesn’t like most things about anyone. But she especially hates your drinking. And I do, too.”

 

“Don’t start. I’ve gone out once this entire month. It’s not a problem.”

 

“Maybe, but you’ve been drinking at home more. It’s not a problem right now, but it could be, and it will be if you don’t knock it the hell off. Your dad is an alcoholic, Jughead, you think it won’t make its way to you if you aren’t careful?”

 

“Jesus Christ, Betty!” He hated being compared to his father, the messy drunk who called once a month and asked for money his son was gullible enough to give. “Can we not fucking do this right now?”

 

Tears in her eyes, she stomped her foot. “Then when? When are we going to do it? Because every time we start having this conversation you get your ass up about it and do this!”

 

“It isn’t a big deal!”

 

“Goddamn it, Jughead, you can’t keep coming home drunk like you’re in college when you’ve got two people waiting for you to come back!”

 

He froze as his brain worked quickly to catch up to her math. It didn’t make sense. She was one person, and surely the cat wouldn’t count. Two people. His heart dropped to his stomach and he felt sick.

 

“What?”

 

It was quiet then, eerily so, as the weight of her words finally settled between them. Betty wiped the tears from her eyes. “I’m pregnant, Jughead. I found out two weeks ago. I’m about a month along but we’ve been fighting so much I couldn’t… I couldn’t figure out when to tell you. There’s never time. You drink and then you go to sleep or you work and then you go to sleep. We haven’t been us and I’m scared to bring a baby into that, even if I helped make it with someone I love more than anything in the entire world. I can’t and I won’t. So you have to leave. You have to leave until you figure out what’s going to matter to you. Because this isn’t a decision I get to make for you. If you come back, you’re going to be better. No second chances after that. There’s a bag for you by the front door.”

 

“Betty I--” he reached out to try and touch her. It felt like his heart was breaking. Maybe it was. “I didn’t know, you didn’t tell me. I could have...I would have…”

 

“Would you have? Because I would have believed that a few years ago. Right now, I don’t. So I need you to get out. I’m asking you, for both of us, to leave. Make your decision. And then we can decide what to do from there.”

 

There was nothing else to be said when she turned away and locked herself in the bedroom. No matter how many times he knocked and begged and pleaded, all she would tell him was to go. Get out. Come back when he had made up his mind.

 

The bag by the door had all the things he might need: both kinds of brushes, toothpaste, the floss she was always reminding him to use, and his old beanie. Nothing else could comfort him the same way the old hat did. Even in their lowest lows, she cared enough for him to remember that, to remember to take care of him. What a fool he was.

 

With nowhere to go so late at night, especially in his inebriated state, he climbed into the back of his pickup truck and tried to find sleep. A neighbor had their window open and quiet music flittered out into the empty night air. Jughead listened to the words as best he could, hoping to hear a lullaby to get him to fall asleep so the morning would come and he could think properly.

 

A breakup song. How fitting. The universe was not on his side tonight, and for once he suspected it was with good reason.

 

**6: The Apartment: Part 2: In Your Eyes - Peter Gabriel**

 

Jughead had not come home for over twenty-four hours. Betty spent the time crying, curled up on the bedroom floor, clutching her stomach, and apologizing again and again to her baby for making their father leave. Her heart ached. Her head hurt. She forgot to eat except when her stomach screamed, forgot how to move more than a few inches. Veronica called with questions she didn’t want to answer. Her mother called with empty apologies.

 

He did not call.

 

The apartment was empty as she stumbled around it, pulling together a few things to keep her distracted. She vacuumed the couch and held her kitten until it wiggled away and glared at her from the opposite end of the couch. Dinner tasted bitter and sleep didn’t dare to come easy that night. She stayed up for hours, tracing the skin of her stomach and whispering whatever comforting words she could find in her heart to the baby. She expected to feel more resigned the next morning. Maybe the hope had faded and Betty could begin the slow process of moving on and making decisions that felt impossible to tackle now.

 

Betty woke early the next morning, before the sun could properly peak through her curtains. She heard sounds outside her window, loud even when muffled by the thick apartment walls. She sat up and wiped the sleep from her eyes before sliding on her slippers and daring to look out the window. Just on the other side of the blinds was Jughead, holding up a boombox as high as he could so she could see him three stories up. She rushed to the balcony, throwing open the door and watching him with wide eyes.

 

Grand romantic gestures were not something in her boyfriend’s vocabulary. They shared their love for each other in simple, consistent ways. Flowers on her birthday, little whispers of love at night. Not a 1980s serenade in full view of the neighbors. She felt the tears before anything else, her heart threatening to beat completely out of her chest. He had come back. Despite all the fear and worries, Jughead had come back to her, and for their baby.

 

“Can I come up?” His voice was nearly drowned out by the music, but the breeze carried it up to her.

 

She nodded once, not trusting herself to get the words right. Just like always, he understood her, putting down the box and grabbing his keys from his pocket. When she opened the door, she noticed two things: one, he had lugged that stupid stereo all the way up the stairs and two, he was crying, unabashedly crying as he pulled her tightly into his arms.

 

“I’m so sorry, Betty. I am so sorry.”

 

“It’s okay. I forgive you. I forgive you if you promise that you’ll be better. That we will be better. Because this is for us, together, not just you.” She gently cupped his cheeks and placed a soft kiss to his lips. “Because I love you.”

 

“I love you, too. And I’m sorry it took me so long. You’d be surprised how hard it is to find one of these things. I went to like four different pawn shops yesterday and finally had to dig one out of Archie’s storage locker.”

 

“You braved that mountain of old porn comics for me? Thank you.”

 

She tasted the tears on her tongue when she smiled into his kiss. All the weight had been lifted off her shoulders, and for the first time in a very long time, Betty dared to feel hopeful for the future. They cuddled up together on the couch, his hands cautiously tracing along the curve of her stomach. No bumps yet, according to the doctor, but he still seemed in awe knowing there was something growing in her belly. It made her smile.

 

He pulled his hands away after a moment, taking a deep breath. “Can I tell you a story?”

 

“Of course you can.”

 

“It’s not a happy story. Or maybe it started off that, way and life did what it did and made it sad. I know you’ve never met either of my parents, which is probably for the best. My dad’s a drunk and my mom’s flaky, but there was a time where they weren’t, where my parents were actually in love and happy and every day I thought I was the luckiest kid in the world.

 

“Growing up, they would make it a point to dance every night. My mom wanted to be a dancer when she was young, but when she got pregnant she couldn’t, so my dad promised he would dance with her every night to make up for it. And they did. They would smile and laugh and place Frank Sinatra and the Beatles and all these love songs to dance to. It was so amazing. I remember thinking how much I wanted that. How much I wanted to dance in the kitchen with someone I loved so my kids could see it and know that things were okay.

 

“But that was before his drinking got bad. I don’t know when it started, because Mom always tried to keep it away from me, but they didn’t dance as much and then they didn’t dance at all, and instead dad stumbled in drunk and Mom would yell at him. Every time I heard a love song after that I remembered watching my parents’ happiness crumble. I remember being happy and then it all being taken away from me. You asked once, or maybe a million times, why I hate love songs. And that’s why. Because I remember that pain and now I’m scared shitless that I’ll be like that.”

 

“Oh, Juggie. Thank you for telling me.” She was sweet moving into his lap, wrapping her arms around him so he could feel the comfort of her presence. “I promise you our baby will never have to feel that pain. Never in their entire life. Because what you’re doing now means something. To them. And to me.”

 

He relaxed under her touch. “I love you, Betty. I’m sorry I was an idiot for so long.”

 

“We’re all idiots sometimes. I can’t hold it against you. I’m sure I’ll do something stupid sometime soon, especially raising a baby.”

 

“Raising a baby. Sounds pretty good, doesn’t it?”

 

Betty smiled. “Yeah it does.”

 

**7: The Bedroom: Part 2: Daughters - John Mayer**

 

A newborn baby was a difficult joy to behold. One second it was bliss, holding onto her small little body and kissing her soft baby cheeks. The next it was a nightmare, crying for reasons that neither Betty nor Jughead could figure out. It didn’t help that they were young. Young parents made for a constant mess. Work, baby, work, baby--there was nothing else, except for maybe the occasional late night quickie they could sneak in when little Sylvia June Jones was fast asleep.

 

Tonight was one of the worse nights. Sylvia had not taken her bottle well, not responded in the way she usually did to rocking. They tried the rocking chair, outside in fresh air, in the kitchen, anywhere they could think of to be a change of pace to get her to sleep. It was nearing on two in the morning now with no sign of success in the future. They’d get her to stop crying just long enough for something else to upset her. Perhaps this was his karmic retribution for being a bit of an ass before her conception.

 

Betty was trying the chair again, hoping that the gentle rock would help ease their poor girl’s frazzled little mind. It was helping. At least, it seemed that way, because when Jughead came out of the shower, he heard nothing but a soft whisper in the night air. It was so gentle he barely caught it. Following the noise, he ended up right outside of his baby girl's room.

 

He had heard Betty sing once or twice in the car, but it wasn’t often enough, at least to him. Apparently, Sylvia agreed. When he peaked in, her eyes were closed and her breathing had calmed for the first time all night. Her mother was smiling, humming the words so quietly he had to strain to pick up on them.

 

_ “Fathers be good, to your daughters too.” _

 

Putting her into her crib was easy work. She fit so snuggly between her things, the elephant mobile making circles over head to help ensure she slept soundly through the rest of the night. Betty didn’t stop singing until she was properly tucked in with a sweet kiss to her lips.

 

“You’re staring,” she said without looking up, a hand running through her daughter’s curly blonde locks. “Why are you staring?”

 

“Because I’ve never seen anything more beautiful in my life than my girlfriend putting our daughter to sleep. What song were you singing?”

 

She accepted the kiss he offered her when he came to watch the baby with a hum and a smile. Things had evened out in their lives, even with the constant stress that came with having an infant. Life for them had never been better. They had rid the house of alcohol; Betty had sworn it off too as an act of solidarity, and he felt better. Phone calls with his dad were still never fun, but he’d picked up a pen and started journaling at a counselor’s suggestion, and that was doing the trick better than any bottle had done before.

 

For the first time in his life, Jughead felt the need to be better for someone. It wasn’t just Betty, who loved him faults and all, but another human being, who he did not want privy to his massive failings in his young adulthood. Things were easy to fix with that kind of motivation propelling him ever forward into recovery.

 

“Oh? It’s a love song, are you sure you want to know it?”

 

Jughead rolled his eyes. In time, he was starting to work past those issues as well. He didn’t particularly like the sound, but at least there wasn’t a physical reaction of discomfort every time he turned on the radio. Trauma--at least according to his therapist--was a tricky thing. Each day brought on something new, but now he felt more prepared for the days ahead of him.

 

“Don’t tease me. Love songs never sound like that.”

 

“There are all sorts of love songs, Juggie. Just like there’s all kinds of love. You can love your friends or your girlfriend or your baby. I, personally, especially love our baby.”

 

“I love her, too.” He stared down at the sleeping bundle of joy and smiled. Tonight he felt at ease. “Do you want to go to bed? You haven’t been sleeping well and neither have I.”

 

Betty sighed, but nodded. “We should. I just wish I could sit here and watch her all day and night, to know that she’s okay. Who would have thought we would have a fussy baby.”

 

“Everyone. Don’t you remember at your baby shower? Veronica’s exact words were ‘that baby is going to be a handful, I hope you’re prepared now, Jones.’ Or maybe she’d whispered that to me as a strange threat after we played the toss the baby game. Which, by the way, in retrospect, was kind of weird, since you never want to toss a baby like a football.”

 

“Well, no, but watching Reggie spike a babydoll while my mother sat their horrified was absolutely worth it.”

 

“I could not agree with you more.”

 

That night, Jughead allowed himself a moment to write, all about the little things in the day that made him happy, the little things that meant so much more to him than anything else. With Betty resting her head on his chest and the little monitor beside him letting him know their baby was safe, he fell asleep happy.

 

**8: The Wedding: Never Stop - Safetysuit**

 

If you had asked senior in college Jughead Jones where he thought he might be in five years, he wouldn’t have known the answer. Vaguely, he might have suggested a little coffee shop surrounded by books and people he didn’t completely hate. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d be at an internship with a publishing firm making money doing what he loved. Had you suggested he would be at his wedding, chasing his three year old daughter through the halls of the reception because she didn’t want to wear her shoes, he would have balked and walked away cackling.

 

To be fair, he was only chasing down the little one because his wife--now officially, they had kissed and everything--was fighting with her wedding dress in a desperate attempt to go to the bathroom. Sylvia had decided to wander off while Auntie Ronnie was helping Mommy with her dress, leaving only her shoes behind. Jughead had found his daughter scarfing down the finger foods during cocktail hour, but actually forcing her little feet back into her black Mary Janes was proving near impossible.

 

“Come on silly, for Daddy. You don’t wanna make your princess socks dirty, do you?”

 

“Dirty is dirt and dirt don’t hurt,” she giggled, falling to the ground with a surprised huff.

 

He took that as his moment to scoop her up and force the shoes onto her feet. She seemed sad but unsurprised by his victory; Jughead gave her a kiss to help ease her troubled child heart. Sometimes defeat was hard to swallow.

 

“Too fast! Daddy’s too fast!”

 

“I don’t feel very fast, but if you say so. Come on. It’s time for dancing. Don’t you want to show off your moves to Uncle Archie and Grandma?”

 

“No. I wanna eat.”

 

Her little body wiggled and she hoped out of his arms, this time making her way to their designated table, where sweats were piled high for her to munch on. Well, at least he knew his daughter had his appetite. That would be something easier to deal with than most other things he could think of.

 

Jughead watched her for a few minutes until Alice came to help, pointing toward the doorway. When Betty entered, his heart skipped a beat. Of course he’d seen her before, when she walked down the aisle to him, but he’d simple never seen anything else like her before, a vision in white, so lovely and angelic. He smiled and made his way towards her.

 

The music started up as soon as  they met in the middle of the dance floor. Betty had been in charge of the music at their wedding, and he knew she was a sucker for romance and he couldn’t escape this moment even if he wanted to (he didn’t want to). There wasn’t time for dance lessons between raising an excited toddler and working enough to pay for a wedding, so they simply rocked together, so in love that nothing else in the room mattered.

 

“I hate love songs.”

 

Betty shook her head, ignoring his protests and pulling him even closer. “I know you do.”

 

She smiled up at him and in her eyes he saw every contrived plot, every silly fairytale, every line he had ever complained about. 

 

“But I love you.”

 

In her eyes, he saw the world.

****_I hate love songs (I hate love songs)_  
The old and the new (I really do)  
I hate love songs   
But I love you

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed <3 as always follow me on tumblr @tory-b! I know this was a bit different than the way I usually write fics but I had fun doing it and each part has it's own little theme song!
> 
> Part 1: Achy Breaky Heart-Billy Ray Cyrus  
> Part 2: Love Song-Sara Bareilles  
> Part 3: De' miei bollenti spiriti - La Traviata  
> Part 4: Something - The Beatles  
> Part 5: The Scientist - Coldplay  
> Part 6: In Your Eyes - Peter Gabriel  
> Part 7: Daughters - John Mayer  
> Part 8: Never Stop - Safetysuit


End file.
